


A Planet Named After A Song

by TheAceApples



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 11, Gen, this was titled 'fix-it fic for that angsty shit' in my docs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 08:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10486659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAceApples/pseuds/TheAceApples
Summary: "Colorful Space Marines Convicted of Corruption"It takes Carolina considerably longer than ten seconds to calm down after she sees it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Even His Escape Is Torment](https://archiveofourown.org/works/962063) by [GreyLiliy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy). 



> Someone in the RvB Discord said "hey read this thing it'll break your fuckin heart" and liKE A FOOL I READ IT AND GOT MY HEART FUCKIN BROKEN
> 
> So this is me desperately trying to put it back together.
> 
> NOTE: This won't make any sense whatsoever if you don't read GreyLiliy's fic first.

He’s distracted.

There’s a million different little things to monitor and calculate and account for while they’re tracking down misappropriated Freelancer tech and that’s the _only_ reason he doesn’t notice sooner, alright?

Once he does, he takes a solid ten seconds (a fucking eternity when you’re an A.I.) to yell and scream and curse—because it’s fucking _bullshit_ is what it is. He and Carolina only left because it was _done_ , Project Freelancer was _over_ , there was no _reason_ to believe that the UNSC would still have a hard-on for the guys. But apparently they _did_ , they _do_ , so he takes the time to throw a good and proper _bitch fit_ before bringing the headline to Carolina’s attention.

It takes considerably longer than ten seconds for Carolina to calm down after she sees it.

\---

_“Colorful Space Marines Convicted of Corruption”_

\---

It’s been five weeks since the headline broke and D hasn’t shut the fuck up about probabilities and percentages and likelihoods; Theta is damningly silent, just a red and blue ball of light and hurt; the twins are all whispers without substance; and Omega is _angry_ , so _angry_ —

“Epsilon, you okay?”

There’s a note of alarm in Carolina’s voice that makes it possible for him to ignore the others, send their lights winking out, put a few firewalls between his code and theirs. He just, he just needs some _peace_ and _quiet_ , some time to _think_.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here, C,” he says, the pause between her question and his answer too small for her to notice, but almost all that he _can_ notice. It shouldn’t be this difficult, this _hard_ , to focus on saving his friends. “It’s just, ah, a little crowded in here is all.”

They’re standing on a backwater planet in the middle of fucking nowhere called Aria, following up on rumors of people crazy enough to go up against the UNSC, and he’s trying not to think about how the guys probably think they’re not coming. Five weeks is a long time to hold out hope that a super-soldier and a sentient computer program are just running late for a badass rescue. It’s true, in this case, but the guys don’t know that. The only one who probably doesn’t hate them at this point is Caboose and, well—he’s not really holding out much hope for that one.

“Well, try to keep it together, okay?” Carolina says, radiating concern but trying to keep him from seeing it. The effort is completely futile—they’re sharing _brain space_ , here—but it’s a nice thought. “We _need_ a pilot, not to mention a ship, and if this doesn’t pan out… I’m not sure where else to look.”

\---

They get a pilot _and_ a ship, as it turns out.

Carolina’s head becomes even louder—filled to bursting with surprise and awe and something soft and squishy that they both ignore and pretend isn’t _love_.

Theta and D fill him in on who exactly is snarking back and forth with Carolina in the midst of a bar-fight, on a planet in the middle of nowhere named after a song, and Epsilon looks over at the _thing_ that they’re both pretending isn’t love.

“Huh,” he says when they’re all three sequestered in a small transport ship that has Theta eagerly pushing memory packet after memory packet at him. The kid’s practically vibrating in excitement, so happy to see another familiar face. “I guess there’s more of you cockroaches left than we thought.”

The pilot in question pauses with a shot of something that’s at least 40 proof halfway to her mouth. She looks like she really wants to ask, but throws the shot back after a three-second hesitation and smacks her lips. “Speaking of cockroaches,” she says, shooting a lazy grin at Carolina.

\---

This planet doesn’t have a name but it does have a lot of snow and two teams whose armor makes him suspicious.

They’re introduced to the first group via a guy with blue armor and a yellow stripe around his bicep pretty much popping up out of the snow to offer to get someone named Terrill to make them some White Russians. The guy then specifies that he’s not talking about a "white, Russian _person_ " and Epsilon can feel Carolina’s amusement warring with the faintest tickle of familiarity.

He sets it aside, planning to ask about it later, and then doesn’t need to when Terrill’s Friend introduces himself as “Iowa” just before shouting at “Ohio” and “Idaho” to come meet the “new people.”

The other A.I. are quiet in his mind, having no memories of these people to offer, but Epsilon doesn’t need them. He has his own, in a manner of speaking—a group of three in matching blue and white armor that tried and tried so hard until they one day just disappeared. Wash had waited for them at lunch for weeks before being told that they had apparently left Project Freelancer altogether, and quietly mourned them as yet more in a long list of people who’d never bothered to say goodbye to him.

Looking around at them—at Iowa, who reminded him of Caboose in all the best ways, at Idaho, who was suspicious and protective enough to occasionally flash aqua in the harsh light of the snow, at Ohio, who gasped and sputtered and fawned over Carolina the second she heard the name—Epsilon was struck by an intense longing.

He was going to get his, get _their_ , team back.

He wasn’t just going to let them rot in prison.

He wasn’t going to abandon them again.

\---

Meeting the “proto-Reds”, as he’d taken to calling them, was interesting in all the ways Epsilon didn’t expect.

Darryl, fascinated to meet another (former) Agent of Project Freelancer, was big and friendly and, yeah, kinda dumb, but not the fanatic that Epsilon expected. Likewise, his partner Terrill (presumably he of the White Russians) was even more welcoming, offering to whip up any cocktail they might want. Sherry, who Epsilon might have expected to be more akin to the female Sarge from that one time in the memory unit, was exasperated but fond of her troops in a way that made his code ache.

Carolina started when she heard that they had once worked for Charon Industries, but the proto-Reds didn’t seem to bear any ill-will towards her when she mentioned fighting their forces in the war. Sherry had, in fact, waved it away citing that they were the worst fighters in their unit and both Epsilon and Carolina grinned in unison.

It was nice to meet friends you didn’t even know you had.

\---

The proto-Blues worked well together, in the same way that Blue Team worked well together—with an excess of bickering and fucking up in ways that somehow managed to work in their favor.

The proto-Reds were an easy-going bunch with a similar dynamic.

They all volunteered to help out the second they heard that Wash—whom they called “David” half the time—was in trouble. The Blues because they knew him, and the Reds seemingly just because the Blues were so worried about him.

Epsilon could feel Carolina’s approval and gratitude as strongly as his own as they all began to plan. Terrill brought over a tray of various cocktails, to everyone’s very vocal appreciation, and they got to work.

\---

He turns Carolina’s external auditory receptors down, the alarms are so fucking _loud,_ and Carolina huffs out a quiet “Thanks, Epsilon” between crushing one of the guards heads between her thighs and yelling at Sherry to “Hurry the _fuck_ up, _please_!”

Taking out the guards isn’t hard.

Relying on the protos to find where the guys are being held and relay that information and act as all-around backup isn’t hard.

Getting into the cellblock holding the guys and seeing that Wash—seeing what the UNSC decided to do to him? _That’s_ hard.

Epsilon sputters out excuses and apologies and insults as Carolina hands out service pistols like Halloween candy but he doesn’t know what he actually _said_. He’s too busy staring at Wash’s deathly pale skin, listening to the garbled muttering of someone who isn’t where they’re supposed to be.

Tucker shoots through his avatar seven times throughout the ensuing firefight and refuses to talk to him on the Pelican.

\---

They talk about going back to the planet with no name, where the protos have spent who knows how many years taking potshots at each other and mixing experimental new cocktails together, but decide against it.

Sherry says she’d rather die than see that frozen hunk of ice ever again, and Darryl and Terrill protest that somewhat, but agree all the same. Ohio, cheeks darkening even further, declares that she won’t let the proto-Reds out of her sight while Idaho and Iowa smile and shake their heads and point out that, of course she won’t, Sherry and her are dating.

Carolina muffles the impulse to laugh and tells Four-Seven-Niner to head back to Aria instead. She’s already got roots and connections there, and they can decide if they want to go somewhere else after that.

The guys are quiet at the other end of the Pelican where they all look at Wash fearfully.

\---

On a planet named after a song, in the middle of nowhere, with the protos exclaiming over the heat and humidity and the bugs and the guys complaining about the same exact things in the background, Agent Washington wakes up to the team he thought abandoned him and the team that never would.


End file.
